


The Scar

by InArlathan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Being All Elfy, Death, Elvhen Pantheon, Elvhenan, Elvhenan Culture and Customs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Mythal Is The Good One Here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InArlathan/pseuds/InArlathan
Summary: Driven by the desire the become one of the Evanuris, an elvhen mage summons a spirit of wisdom and tricks it into taking on a physical body to impress the all-mighty Mythal. Disgusted by what the mage had done, the All-Mother sides with the former spirit and helps him to free himself from his mistress’s bindings, owning the name the mage has given to him: Solas.





	The Scar

_ **“He did not want a body. But she asked him to come.** _  
_ ** He left a scar when he burned her off his face.”** _

**– Cole**

__________

Her blood pooled around his feet, thick and dark as the night. He shuddered and stepped back, away from the dead woman who’s blood he’d spilled across the ancient marble floor. Her arms and legs lay twisted as if they belonged to a puppet rather than a living being. He dropped his hands and the spell faded away, leaving nothing behind but a gaping hole in his heart.

His mistress was dead and he had killed her.

“Well, that is that, I presume,” Mythal mused.

Sitting on her golden throne, the All-Mother had watched the fight in absolute silence. If she felt disgust or horror upon the murder, he could not tell. Her face was still, her breaths long and steady.

_She is justice incarnate_, he thought.

Is that why she had allowed him to kill his mistress? Because she thought it was just? He wanted to believe it so very badly. Maybe it would keep the darkness at bay that grew within him with every passing moment.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Mythal asked. Her voice was soft and candid. It was a gift he did not deserve.

“I… I don’t know,” he said, wiping away droplets of sweat that had gathered on his forehead. The fight had been much more exhausting than he had expected.

Slowly, the All-Mother rose from her throne and came towards him. Her rich green robes rustled softly as she descended from the dais, her steps echoing from the high stone walls of her Throne chamber.

“I remember the day she presented you before my court,” she said with her eyes fixed on the dead body on the floor in front of her. “She all but burst with pride while she told the tale of your summoning. A spirit of wisdom, eager to share his knowledge with The People, yet too kind to recognize an enemy on sight.”

He swallowed, hard. He, too, remember this tale. Remembered it all too well. It had become a part of his being, just like the body he inhabited.

“She learned everything she could from you,” Mythal continued, “and when you had finally shared all of your knowledge of the Beyond, she lured you into a body, binding you to the Waking World.”

Mythal lifted her hand ever so slightly. Still, he could feel the wave of energy flaring up around her as she drew power from the Beyond to cast her spell. Blazing fire erupted from the corpse, cloaking the body of his former mistress in flames. The air wavered and filled with the smell of burnt flesh.

Another wave of Mythal’s hand and the blood began flowing towards the tiny fissures in the marble floor and sank into the stone. He breathed a sigh a of relief as the dark fluid vanished.

They watched in silence as the flames consumed the dead woman’s body and when the fire finally died down, it was as if his mistress had never even existent. For a moment, they heard nothing but the song of birds and the sound of whispering leaves from the forest outside Mythal’s palace.

The All-Mother let out a sigh of regret. “I told her that her pride would be her undoing.” Her gaze turned to him. “Or should I say her _Pride_?”

A shiver worked its way down his spine. Until this day, his mistress had called him Pride, her _Solas_, for he was the embodiment of her strength, the manifestation of her will. For a while, he had liked that name, until he came to realize that he was but a means to an end. Now he wished the name belonged to someone else.

He raised a hand to touch the skin on his cheeks. Though he could not feel it, he knew the lines of his vallaslin by heart. His fingers traced the curved markings while he thought about the day when his mistress had presented him to Mythal and her courtiers. Back then, he was still trying to get used to his body and was too confused by the powerplay unfolding before his eyes to understand it. It was an irony, really, how little he had known about elvhen politics, even after spending years and years in friendly conversation with one of Elvhenan's most powerful mages.

“This spirit of wisdom possesses more knowledge than any other I have ever encountered,” his mistress had said to Mythal. “I devote him to you, All-Mother, as a sign of my loyalty to you, and grace him with your vallaslin.”

At that moment, Mythal had had no other choice but to accept her gift. She would have been seen as cruel or unkind by her courtiers if she hadn’t. So the All-Mother watched as his mistress ingrained the vallaslin in his skin with magic. The pain had been almost unbearable but he had been too proud to show his agony in front of the assembled elvhen. Instead, he had bitten his lips until they were bloody and kept silent.

Maybe some of his mistress’ pride had rubbed off on him when she’d help him take on a physical form.

_So I truly am Solas_, he thought bitterly.

“There is something you must tell me,” Mythal said. “How did she convince you to enter this realm?”

He blinked, taken by surprise. “How do you know she did not bind me like she claimed?”

A soft chuckle escaped Mythal’s lips.

“All elvhen were like you once, Solas, exisiting freely within the Beyond,” she explained. “Only those with the will to change their form were able to enter this world and manifest themselves in a physical body. Many ages ago, I, myself, was what you might call a spirit of justice, and when I saw the many wrongs that happened in the Waking World, I could not resist to enter it to set things right. That is why I know that no spirit can be bound into a body without its consent. Otherwise, it could never hold on to a physical form long enough to survive the journey to the Waking world.“

She looked him over. “But you are a person. You have a purpose. This means you came to this world by will, not by force. So tell me, what made you come here?”

He sighed. “I was curious. She had told me so much about this world and its wonders and I was … _excited_ by her enthusiasm. I wanted to walk among The People and learn everything they had to offer so I could pass their wisdom on to other spirits. But when I’d taken my body, I …”

His voice trailed off.

“When you had taken your body, you found that you could not return to your spirit form,” Mythal said, finishing the sentence for him.

“Yes.”

The word tasted bitter in his mouth. He had never admitted his failure so openly before. The pain was simply too much to bear.

His desire to learn had made him foolish. He had been so eager to gain wisdom that he did not see the woman who had summoned him for what she really was. He’d simply assumed that she was a kindred spirit, a seeker of truth and knowledge, just like him. Learning from her had excited him and he had trusted her to guide him into his body. But then his friend used his trust to turn him into her pet to parade him around the rest of The People. Only then he realized the terrible mistake he’d made and he had regretted it ever since.

“You are not the first spirit to make this mistake and you won’t be the last,” Mythal said. “When taking on our physical form, we gain a stronger sense of self and a power that is beyond any spirit. It allows us to shape the world around us. But we also lose our ability to become one with the Fade. We can only dream of the world we have lost and try to make a difference in this one.”

Another moment of silence passed. “She should have told you about the consequences,” Mythal said. “But I wonder why you haven’t turned your back on her after her betrayal. She may have lured you into this world, but she never truly commanded you. Still, you called her mistress.”

“It was spiritual affinity that kept me by her side, though I never forgave her for luring me into taking a body,” he admitted. “I was perfectly happy as I was, back in the Beyond. But she was my friend and I thought I owed her for what she had given me.”

“I see,” Mythal said, her voice heavy with sadness. “I’m sorry.”

“I do not deserve your sympathy,” he replied.

“And why is that?”

“Because I wish to burn the vallaslin off my face. _Your vallaslin_.” The words came out in a rush, like a tide that had been held back for far too long. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his face. He imagined the lines of the blood writing burning brightly on his skin, just like the fire Mythal had cast to get rid of his mistress’s body. “I want to take it away and leave all memory of what was behind.”

“Well, take it off then,” Mythal said with a soft smile. “No one is stopping you.”

It took him a moment to understand what she truly meant. And when the realization finally hit him, he blinked in surprise yet again. He lowered his hands to look at Mythal. “But it would be an insult to you!”, he insisted. “The People would see it as a great offense if I rejected your patronage.”

The All-Mother laughed. “It was your mistress who offended me by thinking it would impress me that she tricked a trusting spirit into taking a body. It was her who offended me in wanting my patronage, not for the good of The People, but to rise in rank and to become one of the Evanuris. That is why I tempted you to kill her, you know. To right her wrongs.”

She reached out to him and touched his cheek gently. “Others might think you denied yourself to me, but I know that is not true. I wish you to act on your own accords and honor me with your deeds. Thus, you could never offend me, Solas_, e_ven if you tried.”

The way she said his name made him shiver. It sounded so different from the way his mistress had said it. As if Mythal was proud of him, not for being a particularly powerful spirit, but for freeing himself at last.

“Go on, now”, she said and gifted him with an encouraging smile. “Take off the vallaslin and leave your past behind.”

“But I don’t know how,” he admitted. “Will you help me?”

“Oh, no.” Mythal shook her head slightly. “You are perfectly capable of removing the blood writing on your own. It is one of the few benefits of possessing a physical body: You may shape it to your will. But beware that you will be the first of your kind, for no other elvhen had felt the desire to take the vallaslin away. It will be a wonder to behold.”

He looked at her for a moment, baffled by her confidence in him. How could she be so sure about his power when he himself doubted it so much?

Before he knew it, she took his hand into her own and squeezed them. “Do it,” she urged. “I know you can.”

Encouraged by her words, he slowly, very slowly, allowed himself to believe in his own strengths.

She let go and he stretched out his hands before him. With every fiber of his body, he opened up to the energy of the Fade, allowing it to fill him up like wine poured into a golden goblet. Sparks of light spread from his fingertips across his palm, a flash of blue and green and white, mingled together.

He brought his hands up to his face and closed his eyes. In his mind, he pictured the fine lines of the vallaslin once more. He saw it burn, bright as day. Then he traced his fingers across his face, imagining the light from his hands spreading across his skin. He felt a soft tingle and then a sting on his forehead.

When he was done, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Did I work?” he asked Mythal, and she beamed at him, proud like a mother.

“You left a scar,” she said softly, touching a small spot above his right eyebrow. “But yes, it worked.”

She was so close to him he could feel the warmth of her body, but he did not mind.

“I’d rather wear a scar on my face then any vallaslin,” he told her, “for I created it myself.”

“You will bring glory to The People,” she said. “I’m proud to call you kin.”

And then, the tears finally came.

He closed his arms around Mythal’s slender figure and buried his face against her shoulder. And while he wept, his body shaking, she remained silent and held him like a mother would.

After a while, he ran out of tears and became very still in her arms. A part of him waited for her to push him away, now that he had freed himself of his mistress’s influence completely. But instead, Mythal waited until he himself was ready to let go.

“What happens now?” he asked in a raspy voice.

“That is up to you. With your mistress gone, you are free to go wherever you please in the Waking world. Vir Dirthara might be a good place to start. I’m sure Ghil Dirthalen will be happy to offer you guidance.”

“I will consider it,” he said. “Thank you, All-Mother.”

“You may call me Mythal.”

He smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. “I could never do that.”

They looked at each other for a moment. A bond had built between them and they both knew it. Their spirits were joined for as long as they might live and they were united in thankfulness for this rare gift.

“I should leave,” he said at last. “I have taken enough of your time.”

Mythal sighed. “I’m afraid you have,” she said. “There are other matters to attend to. But I hope you will return soon, my friend, and tell me what you have learned while we were apart.”

“I will. I promise.”

And with that, he made his way to the door. When he had entered the throne room, he had been a spirit, bound by the will of another. Now he had become something different. He was scared of what awaited him outside these halls, afraid of the world and the future and his own powers, but he would find a way for himself.

“Oh, one more thing.”

Mythal spoke in a low voice but her words carried all the way to the throne room’s door without fading.

He turned around to face her once more, his hands clasped behind his back. “Yes, All-Mother?”

Mythal’s face lit up as their eyes met. She reminded him of the moon rising over a mountain ridge in a dark and stormy night. It was in that moment that she earned his undying devotion, his eternal love, and gratitude.

“Despite any regret or pain or guilt you might feel,” she said with a glimmer in her golden eyes, “you _should_ be proud of yourself. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I did it! My very first DA fan fiction. After hearing that quote from Cole for the first time, I couldn’t stop to think about its meaning. “The Scar” is just one idea I had, so I will be writing at least one more story on the topic. But for now, I hope you enjoyed it! <3


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